Faking It and Other Top Gun Stories: Bradley Bradshaw, Pete "Maverick" Mitchell

No Sex with the Ex - Bradley Bradshaw

A/N: Hey y'all! I'm so glad to be posting again <3 Hope you guys like this little story. I'm not sure if I will continue with it or just leave it as it is but, for now, consider it a one-shot.

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw can't get you out of his head post-breakup and, when you turn up at the bar unexpectedly, he begins to question whether closure is really all it's cracked up to be. Surely, getting over you can be achieved just as effectively by getting under you.

CW: swearing, drinking, angst, fluff, suggestive banter, a lovesick Rooster

.....

Bradley stares at the bubbles swirling in his beer as Jake enthusiastically interacts with a particularly chatty pair of women who've inserted themselves into their conversation.

Jake nudges Bradley in the ribs, giving him a cross look, and Bradley glances up to direct a reluctant grin at the girls.

"He's a little tired today," Jake excuses Bradley's behavior, eyeing him pointedly. "Pulling too many G's."

One of the women leans her ample bosom into the table. "What's that like?" she asks in a sultry voice, but Bradley's attention has already reverted to the fizzing beer under his nose.

"It's tiring," Jake answers for him. Once the women head back to the bar, Jake rounds on Bradley. "Rooster, making eyes at your beer ain't gonna get you laid."

Bradley lets out a heavy sigh and takes a swig of his drink. "Who said I wanted to get laid?"

Jake grimaces. "Who doesn't?"

Bradley shrugs.

Jake groans. "Bradshaw, if this is about Y/N –"

"Of course, it's about Y/N," Bradley responds glumly.

"This is precisely why you need to get laid." Jake waves his hand at a different set of women at the opposite end of the bar.

Bradley lowers his head into his hand, clammy from gripping his sweating beer stein, and rubs the cold condensation into his forehead.

"Fuck," he hears Jake mutter to his right.

Bradley turns his head without lifting it from his hand. "Did they leave?" he asks monotonously.

Jake cringes. "No, they're still here," he says. "But so is someone else."

Bradley's face pales and he instantly looks up at the door, straightening his posture and craning his neck. He sees you enter the bar with your friends and groans. "For fuck's sake," he mutters. You're wearing a pair of ripped jeans and a tank top that hugs your curves perfectly. You're smiling as if you have no care in the world – laughing even, because some idiot in a uniform makes a joke which probably isn't even funny. Bradley turns to Jake with a look of disgust.

Jake is wearing a forced smile to indicate that, despite this unforeseen incident, the evening is far from lost. "There are other bars," he says. "We could go" –

"We could go home," Bradley says, rising from his seat.

"Your glass is still half full!" Jake exclaims, pulling on Bradley's arm to yank him back into his seat.

"You mean half empty," Bradley grumbles, picking up the beer without sitting back down.

Jake rolls his eyes. "Rooster, if we don't get you laid tonight, I'm gonna end up strangling your ass because you're really starting to get on my nerves."

Bradley lifts his eyes to find you again as you weave through the crowd toward a table near the back. He slams the stein down and Jake stares at the empty glass with wide eyes.